


Draco's life that wasn't

by Pickl3lily



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 'Kidnap' not kidnapped, AU - conon divergence, BEgrudging ron/draco friendship, How It Should Have Gone, Multi, Slowish build, Snooty Narcissa, What if fic, eventual Drarry bromance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-03 15:49:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4106422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pickl3lily/pseuds/Pickl3lily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a version of reality where Hermione found Draco crying instead of Harry, she listened to him instead of started a fight, and he cracks under the pressure. She implements a daring and slightly foolish plan that involves a fake kidnapping of Draco, and hiding him at 12 Grimmauld place whilst trying to see if he might have any useful information. Things are further complicated when Narcissa Malfoy's 'betrayal' is uncovered and she is to be executed - thereby cueing a second faked kidnapping and a whole lot of awkward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Draco's breaking point

**Author's Note:**

> So in my mind, everything could have been prevented had Harry tried talking to Draco instead of picking a fight; we saw with Dumbledore that Draco wanted to talk and wanted out. In this fic Hermione finds him and makes a snap decision that changes the course of the story and I kind of wanted to make something that could be somewhat in character yet redeemed Draco. Also, I like the fact JK said she originally planned Dramione to be canon...

                                     **_Chapter one: Draco's breaking point._**  
  
Hermione caught Harry’s arm as he began to turn, fully intending on following Malfoy from the Great hall. “Harry, no. Please, let me go, I’m not as angry and I can take care of myself.” And for good measure, she cast a quick mud-swamp spell at his and Ron’s feet to keep them in place as she darted after the blonde, ignoring the shouts of her best friends as she went. She managed to just about keep him in her sights, having had enough of a delay that she was significantly behind him and was able to remain somewhat inconspicuous. She was honestly dubious that he needed tailing at all, and was about to return to her friends and tell a small white lie that he had gone straight to the Slytherin common room, before she realised that he had just slipped into Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom; despite her better judgement, she felt her interest pique, and followed him inside.

Never had Hermione imagined that she would have ever seen the sight that beheld her in the bathroom, as she watched Malfoy’s body shudder with sobs, heard them echo around the walls. She failed to contain a soft, sympathetic noise that had him jolting upright and whirling around, wand raised and ready to fight. Her hand tightened around her own wand for a moment, before she remembered that she had followed him instead of Harry to avoid violence, and she loosened her grip, hand remaining over the handle should she need to defend herself. “Malfoy – _Draco_ , what’s wrong?” She tried to convey a tone that was sympathetic and made her approachable, but even she could hear the slight stilt to her words, revealing her discomfort.

Malfoy’s expression had gone from desperate grief to fury as he seethed at her “Don’t you dare think you are worthy of talking to me you filthy little mud-“ and suddenly he was breaking off, face contorted with sorrow and disgust as he recalled his summer, his initiation, being forced to watch as muggleborns and purebloods alike, were tortured and killed. They had screamed the same, bled the same, they haunted his dreams the same. Suddenly his eyes were burning again and his body was crumpling to the floor, wracked with sobs, “I have to! I have to! He’ll kill me, he’ll kill them! I can’t, I can’t – I’m _Sorry_ , please, please, I _can’t_ ” words unbidden spewed from his lips, interspersed with sobs and he could sense Granger shifting, saw her hand hover and retract several times before placing on his shoulder and flinching, obviously expecting him to throw her off, to insult her; to do anything other than sob harder, fall forwards, brace his hands on her legs, bury his face in her knees and tell her everything.

 

Hermione was horrified, disbelieving; Harry had been right – Draco Malfoy had been marked a death eater, that much had been confirmed as he had allowed her to shakily roll up his left sleeve – but he had also been wrong – it had not been an active decision. It had been a punishment for his father’s failures and the task he had been given, had come with the ultimatum that failure would come at the cost of his mother’s life. Hermione knows, that herself, that the Weasleys might not have had the strength to resist that; having your family murdered was bad enough, but being responsible, being able to save them and not – she wasn’t sure that she would be capable of making the right choice. But she could now, still stroking at his hair while he sobbed, apparently having forgotten who she was, she quickly and silently raised her wand and cast a quick **_Stupify_**. He slumped to the ground and after **_Accio_** -ing the Marauder’s map to ensure the coast was clear, she levitated him towards Dumbledore’s office.

 


	2. By the order of...

**_ Chapter two: By the order of… _ **

When Draco awoke, it was with the groggy confusion of not remembering going to sleep, accompanied by a throbbing in his head not entirely unlike when he and his friends and drank a little too much of their smuggled firewhisky. Memories trickled backed to him slowly as he blinked away the confusion, and the black spots dancing in front of his vision and he jolted up into a sitting position as he was hit with a slightly hazy recollection of breaking down and confiding in Granger. He stifled a groan as he pinched the bridge of his nose. _Granger – seriously?_ He mentally berated himself and then realised that his eyesight had cleared enough that he could see around himself, enough to know that he didn’t recognise his surroundings at all, and he could only assume that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named must have known he had talked and had taken him for… Tears pricked his eyes again at the realisation that he would soon be dead, but he rubbed them away furiously; if this was how he was going to die, he would probably be tortured in front of the death eaters first, his mother included, he didn’t want his mother to see him cry.

“Sorry.” Came a soft, irritating voice that he knew too well, and he turned in confusion to see Granger sat in the corner of this dank little room. “I wasn’t really thinking all that clearly, I didn’t think you’d let me help you if I offered.” She continued, looking apologetic but still possessing that haughty tone in her voice that always made Draco feel like an idiot. “Yeah, well, ten points to Gryffindor. I don’t want your help so if you wouldn’t mind just –“ Hermione cut him off, her voice actually matching her apologetic expression when she said “Sorry Draco, but I can’t do that. I’ve already made sure that the death eaters have been made aware that I saw your dark mark and that you are now officially a prisoner of war, held by the Order of the Phoenix.” She bit her bottom lip worriedly and that aggressive voice in his mind that had wished her dead in second year, began to rear its ugly head again, as he silently wished she would draw blood. “What in Merlin’s name are you harping on about Granger? This your idea of a joke? Because its not bloody funny!” His voice contained fury but his expression portrayed clearly the rising panic he was feeling, knowing that his mother was all alone now. That he had failed like his father and that he would probably be joining him in Azkaban.  


“It’s not a joke, Malfoy.” Came Potter’s voice, as he entered the room, shoulder-to-shoulder with Dumbledore and flanked by the weasley brood, and somehow managing to scowl and look pitying all in one. Dumbledore took off from where Harry had ended. “No Draco, no joke. Welcome to the Order’s headquarters, where you shall be staying for the foreseeable future. You will, of course, be encouraged to continue your studies, however, it will no longer be safe for you to return to school. Mr and Mrs Weasley have generously offered to care for you until such time as it is safe for you to return to Hogwarts.” Draco began to feel light headed and he could feel the bile rise in his throat; there may not be soul-sucking guards, and it may be warm, but it was still a prison – one where he was expected to play nice with the weasels of the wizarding world.


	3. Never tickle a knitting dragon

**_Chapter Three: Never tickle a knitting dragon_**           

_ Four weeks later… _

Four weeks. Four bloody weeks. Draco fumes silently in his room as he recalls the past month that he spent being given one-on-one lessons by the Weasley matriarch and her two eldest children. At first, he had been resistant, sulked and refused to participate, however, Mrs Weasley had seven children after all; the only response he received from the woman had been a slap to the back of the head and stern words informing him that if he didn’t want to learn, then she wouldn’t waste her time. He had initially thought them to be empty words, before entering the dining room for his daily lessons, and sitting alone for three hours; she had come in to serve lunch and blatantly ignored the elephant in the room. He went without lessons for nine days before the monotony of the day began to bore him so completely that he sought her out, and though it came out stilted and with a slight sneer, he managed to force out an apology and requested for her to resume his lessons. She had responded by giving him a warm smile and a tender pat on the arm and though he made a show of wiping the spot she had touched, it didn’t bother him as much as it might’ve before.

Now, without any other possible hobbies to uptake, he was maintaining his sanity by secretly filling up the rest of his day by helping the woman with the housework and preparation of meals; no one other than Mrs Weasley was aware of his work, but even she wasn’t informed when he decided to take up knitting to occupy him when he was eluded by sleep. Of course, being a mother involved in the raising of so many children, she was not nearly as easy to get around as his own.  


“Draco, dear. I got you something from the market today; so you won’t have to keep sneaking it from me.” She smiled kindly at him as she pushed the bag of wool into his arms, which he hurriedly threw behind him onto his bed and pulled the door closer to him, as if to hide any evidence from prying eyes. “Er, thanks Mrs Weasley.” Draco still wasn’t comfortable with apologies and expressing gratitude, but he was becoming more comfortable around the older woman, given that she was one of the few people he saw now, and he wanted to remain on her good side. He managed to flash her what he hoped was a grateful smile; it was an expression he wasn’t much used to, and he was finding it difficult to express emotions after being taught to hide them for so long.   


He supposed it was reasons like the kind actions and expressions of generosity that made him so comfortable that when three months into his ‘rehabilitation’, when the entire order and their respective children were present, he was able to break through his cool façade.

When the others had come back for the start of the holidays, Draco tried to avoid them, but Mrs Weasley insisted he socialise; there were initial protests from Potter, but he was surprisingly hushed by Weaselby, who assured him that his mother had obviously invested in Draco as a new project, and that not even Harry’s opinion would matter now – which is not to say that they were on good terms, the youngest Weasley boy ignored Draco, and Draco was only too happy to react in kind.

It took a week for Potter to stop following Draco around the house, as if expecting for him to open a door and reveal a group of Death Eaters; eventually, he became more at ease and left Draco to his own business, but only after a rather mortifying incident. One week into the suspicious treatment, Harry burst into Draco’s room a little after midnight, as if expecting him to be performing some nefarious deed – what he found instead was Draco knitting a lurid green beanie, that he had been making as a gag gift for Pansy, who he knew would wear the repulsive thing, just because it came from him. One silencing charm to stifle the next half hours’ worth of cackles, and the two had a grudging truce, and surprised everyone the next morning when Harry greeting Draco with a knowing smile, which Draco acknowledged with a jolting nod, averted eyes, and a blush.

 

Despite how civil, and dare he say, almost friendly he was becoming with Potter, Granger and the Weasley brood, Draco found himself growing more and more miserable as time went on, and as he bottled up his emotions, Draco found himself missing his home, his friends and most of all – his mother. Narcissa Malfoy had never been an overly nurturing woman; she loved him, and made sure he knew that, but she expressed her love in a much different way than Molly Weasley. He loved his mother, and felt sadder every time Mrs Weasley smoothed down his hair, or gave him a quick one-armed hug, or treated him the same way as one of her own. He found that he had to bite back an emotionally-fuelled scathing comment every time she showed him affection, as he had actually begun to get along with the others – particularly the Weasley twins, and he realised that he didn't want to ruin the progress he'd made with his only connections; the true test to the tentative friendships he had created were tested when they received word from Snape that Narcissa Malfoy had been imprisoned in the dungeons at Malfoy manor as the Dark Lord had finally discovered Draco’s ‘betrayal’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hopefully this is good, but I was really hyperactive when writing it so I apologise if its a bit spastic - let me know if you think I need to edit anything, or even if you have crazy great ideas you wanna share. Also... I need a beta... Anyway, hope you enjoyed?


	4. Narcissa Malfoy is so done with you

**_ Chapter four: Narcissa Malfoy is so done with you. _ **

 

He remembered when the news came – Only the Weasleys and Potter had been present; they’d been getting along surprisingly well, Draco was providing Weasleby with a chess opponent who actually posed a challenge; of course mildly scathing insults were exchanged, but with Mrs Weasley present, they were almost feeble. He was actually coming dangerously close to enjoying himself, for the first time in a long time, before Professor McGonagall strode in wearing a sombre expression, and Draco knew, that whatever had caused that expression, would cause unbearable emotional pain – he just hadn’t expected it to be his.

 

            Draco remembered his third year when he heard about his mother; he remembered the boggart and how, unknown to everyone but Lupin, it had taken the bloodied and beaten form of his mother – how despite his cold, unfeeling persona, his greatest fear was to lose his mother, the way Potter had lost his, to feel responsible for her death. As his breath began to become shallower, more rapid, he remembered too, the other terror of his third year – the dementors; he remembered all too well how cold the room had become, how sound and time had seemed like it had flown away from him, how the room became cold and life felt meaningless, hopeless. He remembered it all, as if he were seeing that boggart, as if he were trapped in a room with a dementor.

Draco didn’t register the hot tears making track down his face, or the heaving sobs wracked from him, he didn’t even realise that he was falling to his knees until he felt hands catch him by the soldiers. He grasped at the person’s arms, found them to be slim yet strong and realised Potter, of all people, was trying to keep him on his feet, and was currently trying to reassure Draco that the Order, _their precious Order_ , wouldn’t let her die, that **he** wouldn’t let Draco lose his mother.

Draco thought he heard his father’s voice in his mind, suddenly a child again, crying over a scraped knee, or a broken broomstick, a dropped ice-cream, a dislocated shoulder; he remembered how his father would always say the same eight words every time, and he could hear them now. “Malfoy’s don’t show weakness; We do not cry.”

He sucked in a long, hard breath and forced himself to blink through the tears until his vision was clear enough to see all of the Weasleys watching him with **pity** ; he wrenched himself away from Potter, worked on fixing a sneering scowl across his ghost-white face and had just started to prepare himself for an especially scathing remark that would stop this, practically destitute family from pitying **him** , when he heard a voice that made him and everyone else in the room freeze.

“Oh Draco, do wipe your face, I know you’ve been living with this… family, for a while now, but I thought we’d taught you better than to look so… unkempt.” He turned, disbelieving and saw that, he hadn’t imagined it, his mother was standing in the doorway, face bruised, hair tousled and looking as if she may be sick or pass out at any moment, and yet still possessing such grace and composure that he knew it was truly her. Beside her, stood Hermione Granger – in a worse state than his mother, and not nearly as composed, biting her lip nervously and almost swaying from exhaustion she offered up a small, quirk of the lips, that he gratefully returned upon realisation that she had saved his mother, the same way she had saved him. In that moment, he forgot her blood status and was amazed when he was hit by the thought _‘She’s the best friend I’ve ever had’_ , and quickly chalked it up to momentary insanity.

Narcissa was not quite as grateful it seemed, nor as gracious as she simply huffed loudly, and uncharacteristically rolled her eyes, before turning on her heel and sashaying out of the room; the abandoned group able to hear her remarks as she showed herself around her family’s ancestral home. “Honestly, at least the rodents in my last prison were of good breeding!”

An awkward silence filled the room, and Draco wasn’t sure whether or not to excuse himself before following after his mother, to have a more private and more emotional reunion when the only Weasley he was on a first name basis with, Charlie, clicked his fingers, pouted his lips and said in a ridiculously nasal voice “Mhmm. Narcissa Malfoy is so done with all of you!” It was so ridiculous that the room was completely silent, and everyone wore similar expressions of confusion, slight horror and bemusement before Granger broke the silence with an incredibly un-ladylike snort and everyone, including Draco, much to his own surprise, erupted into laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, but honestly, I have no clue. I've been really ill lately, with a dangerously high fever which may be my only excuse. This started off with me writing a chapter that would have angst coming out of it's, (metaphorical), ears, and yet somehow it became kinda... cracky? I don't even know. But if you stuck with it and like it, let me know? If you hated it and want me to get back on track with the next chapter, let me know that too? I'll stop talking now...


End file.
